


Good for You

by flibbertygigget



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossdressing, Dubious Consent, Hamilton is not an asshole for once, Jefferson is kind of a dick, M/M, Verbal Humiliation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-21 05:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 13,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6040048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbertygigget/pseuds/flibbertygigget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you ready to be good for me?" Jefferson said, leering.</p><p>Aaron Burr is in over his head. Hamilton helps get him back out again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [ Leslie Odom Jr and Daveed Diggs' cover of "Good for You"](http://leslieodomjr.bandcamp.com/track/leslie-odom-jr-good-for-you-ft-daveed-diggs). See you in hell.

Jefferson had draped himself over the sofa, slippered feet swinging and dressing gown half-open. He glanced over as the door opened, smiling languidly at his Vice President.

The dress was made of a light, flowing pink material, skin-tight until it flared out in delicate layers at the waist. The material was so thin that Jefferson could clearly see every dark, defined muscle. He slid his thumb over a black nipple, and Burr shuddered. Jefferson smirked.

"Are you ready to be good for me?" he said, drawing Burr down so he rested between his legs.

"Yes," Burr said. Jefferson raised an eyebrow, and Burr had to suppress a wince. "Yes, sir."

"That's better," Jefferson said, tracing his way down Burr's sides before resting his hands on Burr's ass. "You know how to show me the proper respect, don't you, you pretty little whore?" Burr whined as Jefferson gave his ass a squeeze and rested his head on Jefferson's chest.

"What do you want, sir?" Jefferson bit savagely at Burr's collarbone and carelessly flicked a strap off his shoulder. Then he moved his hands underneath the skirt, slipping Burr's underclothes down to his ankles.

"You know what I want," he said. "It's the only thing you're good for." Jefferson flipped so that Burr was beneath him, legs secured around Jefferson's hips with his own underclothes. "You belong here, beneath me in every way."

Jefferson nudged into Burr's opening, and then he thrust brutally. Burr's hands reached for Jefferson's hair, but then he remembered his place and clutched at the sheets instead. Jefferson's fingers grasped him hard enough to bruise, and each thrust burned deeper. Burr felt his erection reluctantly grow with every burst of pain until Jefferson climaxed, collapsing onto Burr and nearly crushing him. After a few moments, Jefferson managed to roll over and push Burr off of the sofa. Burr trembled on the floor, still somehow painfully hard.

"Sir, please..." Burr knew that it was useless the moment that Jefferson smirked. 

"Women like you don't need to get off, do they, you little whore? You exist to serve me for as long as I pay you." Burr refused to grasp after the bills that Jefferson threw; he wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "Leave. The President has no need of you anymore." Burr stood, glad that Jefferson at least hadn't destroyed the dress this time, and left the room.

He didn't know why he felt guilty when he finished himself in the bathroom, careful to leave no trace that Jefferson could punish him for. Perhaps it was because he was disobeying Jefferson's unspoken order for him to stay unsatisfied. Perhaps it was because it was because these times always made him feel as though he was futilely trying to correct some wrong. Whatever it was, Burr knew that it had to be worth it. At least this way, he was not a nonetnity in Jefferson's administration. Instead, he was the President's dirty little secret.


	2. Chapter 2

Whatever else might be said about Jefferson, and there was plenty, at least he usually kept their meetings to the night. It was easy, then, for Burr to sneak away and leave no evidence of his shame for anyone else to see. That had been why he had been so surprised when Jefferson had called him down during what was supposed to be his lunch.

Burr winced as he looked in the mirror. Jefferson had torn the dress this time, split it right down the side, and it wasn't as though Burr could easily make his way back to his office to change. Burr sighed and glanced toward the stalls. There was nothing for it. He would have to stay here until the Capitol had cleared out sufficiently for him to make his escape.

While Burr was contemplating the amount of work he'd have to catch up on because of his President, the door of the bathroom opened. Burr jumped and turned, hoping that it wouldn't be anyone he knew by name, hoping it wouldn't be anyone, but of course he had no such luck. Instead he saw Hamilton, perhaps the last person that he wanted to see him like this, staring with mouth agape.

"Vice President Burr." Burr could hear the smirking laughter in Hamilton's voice and felt his face grow warm.

"Can it, Hamilton," he said.

"Why are you in a dress?" Burr turned away from Hamilton, hands shaking, though from anger or shame he had no idea.

"I said can it," Burr snapped. He braced himself for a joke, a possessive hand at his waist, anything but what happened.

"Do you want to borrow my spare suit?" Hamilton said. Burr froze. Hamilton sounded... genuine. "I'm sure that you don't want to be going around in a torn dress." Burr opened his mouth, but then he closed it again, pressing his lips together in a thin line. Humiliating as it was, it wasn't as though he had much of a choice, not if he didn't want to destroy his pride and his career further.

"Fine," he bit out. Hamilton didn't respond to the rude tone, he just smiled and left. Burr disappeared into one of the stalls, heart pounding and stomach churning. What if Hamilton didn't come back? There was no one more eager to damage Burr than Hamilton, not even Jefferson, and this - this was the exact kind of thing that would become poison when spewed from Hamilton's pen. Not that it needed Hamilton's exaggeration to be ruinous, Burr thought ruefully. He shifted on the toilet seat and tensed as a dull ache shot through him.

He wondered if he would be more upset or relieved if Hamilton put an end to it all.

It took less than ten minutes for Hamilton to return with the suit. Burr wordlessly took it as Hamilton babbled on about how they were nearly the same size and wasn't that such a lucky coincidence? He knew that Hamilton was bursting to ask him why he was even in this position. Burr went back into the stall, changed, and waited patiently until Hamilton had left. There was no reason to give himself up for interrogation. Nobody needed to know.


	3. Chapter 3

Hamilton didn't confront him until the next day, which Burr supposed counted as "holding off" as far as the Treasury Secretary was concerned. All Burr wanted was to be left alone, but Hamilton was like a child that poked half-dead animals at the side of the road just to see the reaction. The prospect of taking Burr apart was too tempting, never mind that Burr never wanted to be taken apart again.

"So, do you want to grab lunch?" Hamilton said cheerfully, zoning in on Burr like a bull shark. Burr hesitated. He didn't have a lunch with him, but he didn't want to give into Hamilton. "I'll pay."

"That won't be necessary," Burr said. "Now, if you'll excuse me." Hamilton followed him down the steps anyways, still insisting on paying. Burr rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to argue.

They got lunch at a small cafe around the corner that Burr was a regular at, sitting at a small table in the corner. Hamilton smiled at the worker flirtatiously.

"Do I have to stop coming here?" Burr said. "I wouldn't want to get in the way of your  _amour."_  

"It's called being sociable, Burr," Hamilton said. "You should try it sometime. Besides, I'm the one who ought to be apologizing to you, although I should think that you'd know better than to do the kinky stuff in the White House." Burr sighed, suddenly not hungry. So they were doing this.

"I wouldn't call it... that," he said, staring at his soup. "More of a... business transaction." Hamilton leaned across the table, and Burr could feel the weight of that gaze upon him. He squirmed.

"So, what, you fuck the interns in lieu of paying them?" Hamilton's expression was teasing, but Burr could hear something more serious in his tone, a hidden plea to understand.

"Oh God no, nothing so crass," Burr said, weighing how much he could give away without ruining himself forever. It wasn't nearly enough to get Hamilton off his back. "I- I'm- It's not like that."

"Than what is it?" said Hamilton, the illusion of levity giving way to an all-consuming need to  _know_.

"Can I be assured that this will stay between you and me?" Burr said. Hamilton nodded, and Burr contemplated getting that promise in writing. After all, Hamilton was the last person that he would count on to keep a secret.

On the other hand, Burr wasn't sure whether he could pass up on a chance to make it his side of the story that was heard when the scandal got out. At least then he would have  _something_ left.

"It's Jefferson," he said at last.

"What?" Hamilton's mouth was open dumbly, and Burr could have laughed if the circumstances had been different. Instead he stirred his soup and tried to take a sip. "You mean that you and Jefferson are-"

"It's nothing like that," Burr said defensively. "I told you, it's- it's a business transaction. I give him," body, dignity, pride, "that, and I am assured a place in his administration."

"You're the  _Vice President_ ," Hamilton said. "If anyone should have a place in his administration, it's you."

"Jefferson thinks otherwise," Burr said. "Apparently getting him game-changing electoral votes isn't enough to get me into his inner circle- or even what he considers his party. He's planning on using Madison or some other crony as his running mate should he go for a second term, which he will."

"So, what, you give him a few blowjobs and he gives you the vice presidency?" Hamilton said with the triumphant tone of a mystery solved. Burr bit his lip.

"No," he said.

"Than why?" And that was the problem, wasn't it? Burr had nothing to gain from this. His reputation and position were at stake, and it wasn't as though he wanted the humiliation that Jefferson gave out. He hated it, in fact, hated the pain and the shame and the dresses. The only thing that made it worth it was the knowledge that Jefferson was just as dead as he was if it got out. Well, that and the realization that, if Burr resisted, Jefferson would just take what he wanted anyways. At least way there was the facade of consent.

"Burr?"

"I don't know." Burr could feel his eyes smarting, but he couldn't let it show, not in front of Hamilton. "I don't know." It was no use. Hamilton's look of stricken concern was enough for Burr to know that the gig was up. He was ruined. "I don't know."

"Hey, Burr, are you alright?" A hand gripped Burr's arm, and Burr flinched. The hand went away, leaving him cold and empty. He hated it. "Hey, hey, it's alright. No one is hurting you." The hand was back, tentative, and Burr leaned into it. "It's alright."

"I can't- I can't-" His unwieldy tongue choked him. Burr looked up and saw Hamilton's dark, fathomless eyes, gazing at him, burning him like a brand.

"I will help you out of this." Burr wanted to laugh. He knew that any help was too late, that he was already a drowned man, but he still nodded. He wanted to believe that he wasn't beyond Hamilton's powers to save. 


	4. Chapter 4

Burr had begged Hamilton not to confront Jefferson, and from what he could tell Hamilton had obeyed. No, any increased ferocity on Jefferson's part seemed to be Burr's fault, and no matter how hard he tried Burr couldn't find a way to fix whatever he was doing wrong. He didn't run to Hamilton right away, he wasn't that goddamned pathetic, but with every encounter Burr was pushed closer to the breaking point.

Until, one day, he broke.

Burr knocked on the door of Hamilton's office softly, clutching the remains of his yellow undress together. Part of him was panicking, wondering how Hamilton would respond, but mostly he was just numb. He stared at the door without seeing.

"Burr?" Hamilton tugged gently on his arm, and Burr found himself following. He was lead to a chair, and Burr looked down at his hands. They were trembling. Why where they trembling? "Burr, I am going to clean up your lip, alright?" Burr nodded, but he still flinched away from the damp cloth that Hamilton brought up to his split lip.

The cloth was warm and Hamilton was gentle. Burr closed his eyes and leaned into the cloth, the touch. The haze around him was beginning to recede, and he could feel the fear and panic eating at the edges of his mind, but this was safe. Hamilton wouldn't... wouldn't. 

"What the fuck happened?" The anger in Hamilton's voice made him tense up, but the touch was still gentle. That had to be a good sign, right?

"It was my fault. Jefferson didn't like the dress." Half-remembered phrases echoed in Burr's ears, and he found himself agreeing with them. He had been in the wrong, hadn't he? He knew what Jefferson wanted, he should have realized what the dress would do to him, make him a fucking bitch whore who couldn't even dress right-

Hamilton stood, eyes furious. "I'm going to kill him! What kind of monster would-" Burr reached forward, catching his sleeve.

"Didn't you hear me? I was a- a cock-tease and a prude, so I-"

"He  _hit you_." Hamilton rolled forward like a tsunami, and Burr wanted to shrink backwards, but there was nowhere to go.

"He hasn't before. He's never- Jefferson is not an abuser. He's never done anything that I didn't want- that I didn't consent to."

"Did you consent to this?" Hamilton touched the split lip almost reverently, as though if he did anything more Burr would shatter. Burr shook his head. "Have you ever wanted to say no?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Why?" Burr wanted to be anywhere else. He couldn't answer Hamilton, not when he knew he was just being stupid or- or paranoid. He couldn't say it out loud.

"Because it doesn't matter." Hamilton looked frustrated, and Burr suddenly wanted to explain. "It- It doesn't matter if I want it. I'm his- his whore, and he knows that he can take and take and-" Burr rested his head on Hamilton's chest, breath coming in short, fast bursts. "It doesn't matter if I say no, not to him. He'll keep taking anyways."

Hamilton's arms were around him, but they were loose and warm, nothing like a cage. Hamilton was tracing little patterns on his back, murmuring nonsense, and Burr found himself collapsing. Hamilton caught him, shifting him until he rested on Hamilton's lap. Burr gradually began to breath normally again.

"He's never hurting you again." Burr wanted to protest, but Hamilton sounded so convinced. "You'll never have to go back to that."

"I have to. I can't just leave." And it was true. "If I don't let him, he'll-"

"He will not be able to hurt you," Hamilton said. "He'll have to deal with me first."

Burr should have refused Hamilton's offer. He didn't need protection or whatever Hamilton thought he was, and he didn't want to think of what Hamilton could eventually ask him to give away. But he couldn't stand to go back to Jefferson,  not now that he was cradled in Hamilton's arms, safe. He would give anything to make it out, and that thought scared him above all others, because if he'd do anything...

Burr nuzzled into Hamilton's chest, hoping that he wasn't just trading one hell for another.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little extra warning on this chapter, you're gonna be seeing some very, very uncomfortable dubcon between Hamilton and Burr.

The next time that Jefferson sent for him, Burr hesitated over the dress he had hidden in his desk after the last disaster. It was a lacy, flowing thing with an open back and a deep neckline that left his chest half-bare. Hamilton had told him to go to Hamilton's office instead of Jefferson’s if he was sent for, but Burr didn't know whether Hamilton wanted him in the dress or not. But then, wasn't it better to be safe than sorry?

When Burr entered, Hamilton was typing feverishly at his desk, not even looking up to acknowledge that he had a visitor. For a moment Burr felt almost ill, sure that he had misread all of Hamilton's cues, but then Hamilton finished and looked up. Burr could see how the breath left him. Hamilton's dark eyes seemed to devour him, resting on every inch as though he was trying to construct a blueprint of Aaron Burr.

“Why are you-” Burr stepped forward and sunk to his knees.

“I am ready to be good for you,” he said softly. Hamilton shuddered and turned his chair so that it faced Burr. Burr swallowed the sour taste from his tongue. This was what Hamilton wanted, and Hamilton was protecting him from Jefferson. He owed him this.

Burr crawled forward until he was between Hamilton's legs, lips centimeters away from his zipper. Hamilton gasped and rested his hands on Burr's shoulders, touch feather-light and tender. Burr gazed up at him, afraid of what would be demanded of him.

“Please,” Hamilton said, “please blow me, Burr.” Burr knew an order when he heard one, and what Hamilton asked wasn't even that bad. At least, that's what he told himself to quell the nausea as he pulled at Hamilton's zipper with his teeth and brought out the other man's cock.

Burr sucked at Hamilton slowly, waiting for some indication of the pace that the other man wanted to set. To his surprise Hamilton didn't jerk him forward, didn't bruise his shoulders, didn't claw at his back and dress. Instead Hamilton was moaning and trembling and touching Burr gently, stroking his neck and arms and back as though the barest hint of skin on skin could brand Burr ad surely as Jefferson's bites.

Burr didn't know what to make of the incongruity, of being on his knees without bruises blossoming. Was he doing something wrong?  Was he not being good enough? But, no, Hamilton didn't seem unhappy with him, quite the opposite. It was- It was-

“Yes, Burr, yes, you're perfect.” Burr felt heat rush to his face and reluctant pleasure curl in his stomach at the praise. “Just a little more, a little more for me-” Hamilton cut himself off with a sharp cry, and thick strands of come hit the back of Burr's mouth. Burr swallowed, careful not to gag and ruin whatever he had somehow done right. Then he pulled back, half expecting Hamilton to kick or push him away.

“Hamilton…” Burr was only half hard, but he wanted to know what the rules were, whether he would have to take care of himself in secret or-

Hamilton reached down, gently guiding Burr onto his lap. And then- Burr gasped as Hamilton reached beneath his skirt and began to stroke him to full hardness. Burr rested his head on Hamilton's shoulder, and Hamilton's free hand came to Burr's neck, gently brushing the back of it in time with each stroke. That, that was what made Burr murmer “yes” into Hamilton's skin.

He wanted this. He wanted this so bad. Not to be hurt or used, to to have Hamilton being gentle, so gentle and kind, as though Burr was loved or wanted. He murmered “yes” again as he came in Hamilton's hand, and then he was allowed to simply lie there, cradled in Hamilton's arms. Burr could have never imagined this kind of perfection.

The door squeaked slightly as it opened. “Well, well, well.” Burr tensed at the voice, the spell broken, and Hamilton drew him closer. “It seems that my whore has found a new client.”

“Piss off, Jefferson,” Hamilton said.

“I wonder what you did to him.” Jefferson was coming closer. Burr closed his eyes and waited for the blow to fall. “Did you make him beg for it, Hamilton? Did you make him bleed?”

“I'm not you,” Hamilton spat. “I don't abuse and- and fucking rape people.”

“He never said no.” Jefferson's voice was like a snake slithering over Burr's skin. “He’ll never say no, no matter how far you take it. I wonder what you'll do to him, Hamilton, once you figure that out.”

“Piss. Off.”

“Think about it.” The door squeaked again as it closed and Burr began to breath again. Hamilton's arms fell away, and Burr shivered in their absence. Hamilton looked stricken.

“Did- Did I just-” Hamilton swallowed. “Burr, did you want that?”

“I don't-” Hamilton slipped out from under Burr, stumbling backwards, shock turning to fear. “It doesn't matter.”

“Damn it, Burr, it's all that matters! Answer my question!” Burr averted his eyes. He couldn't put into words how it was, how he hadn't wanted it but it was so much better than what Jefferson gave him that he didn't care. He couldn't say that he hadn't, because that would mean going back to that hell, but to say that he had…

Hamilton looked disgusted, and Burr felt his hopes shatter. Of course Hamilton didn't want someone who was faking all their affection. Of course he didn't want a whore like Burr.

“I'm sorry,” Burr said, running past Hamilton out of the room. He didn't know why, but he could feel tears coming into his eyes, and he didn't want anyone to see him break.


	6. Chapter 6

When Burr heard the knock on his office door, he didn't know who he expected. An aide or an intern, probably. Perhaps Jefferson, come to take him back and punish him. He hadn't expected Hamilton to be standing there, looking afraid but determined.

"Secretary Hamilton."

"Vice President Burr," Hamilton said, "can we confer, sir?" Burr gestured towards the empty chair in front of his desk and mentally steeled himself.

"What's this about?" he said.

"Burr, we need to talk about what happened the other night." Burr's eyes wandered, desperate to avoid Hamilton's piercing gaze. "Don't try to deflect me."

"I'm not deflecting."

"Than answer my question! Did you want to have sex with me?"

"Hamilton, can we drop this-"

"No! I have to know if you-" Hamilton's hand twitched as though in an aborted movement to cup Burr's cheek. "I have to know if I did something terribly wrong to you."

"Hamilton, it's not as though I can press charges. It doesn't matter. I'd rather put all this in the past." For a moment Hamilton looked inhumanly frustrated, and Burr felt his stomach clench, but then Hamilton seemed to push aside the annoyance, or at least hide it away.

"If you want to press charges I won't stop you. What I did was- I'm disgusted with myself. I thought-" Hamilton closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "That's not why I'm asking, though. I know what I wanted that night, what I still want. But I need to know what you want. I want to be what you want me to be." Burr stared at Hamilton. As nervous and convoluted as the words had been, Burr understood what the other man was trying to get across. He just wasn't sure if he could believe them.

"Why do you care?" he said. "Look, I know I owe you for- for Jefferson. I'm not stupid."

"This isn't about you  _owing_  me anything-"

"I know the way that politics work. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. Quid pro quo. You saved me, I'd be stupid not to expect-" Hamilton grasped Burr's wrist, and Burr broke off with a gasp. The hand- it was firm, yes, but also gentle, and when Hamilton removed it Burr found himself wanting it back.

"Let me make myself clear." Hamilton's voice was low and calm. "You don't owe me anything. I was just doing what anyone would, and you shouldn't feel obligated to do- to do anything. I do like you, quite a lot, but I need to know what you want for anything to work between us. If you want this to be strictly professional, that's perfectly fine. You can still count on me to help you out with Jefferson. But I need to know what you need." Burr didn't answer at first. It went against everything he'd expected, everything he had a right to expect, but Hamilton didn't seem to be lying. After everything that had happened, Burr had to be able to trust Hamilton.

"I- I don't know," Burr said, his hands trembling slightly. "I- I liked it when you were,"  _gentle_ , "when you let me stay after, but that's not really-"

"It's perfect," Hamilton said. "Would you prefer to meet in your office or mine tonight?"

"Yours." Burr's mouth was dry, and he couldn't tell if he was afraid or excited.

"It's a date then," Hamilton said, winking. "I'm looking forward to it, beautiful." With that he was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

Burr was less nervous about the dress this time, but he still hesitated. Hamilton had called him beautiful.  _Beautiful_. Would he be happy with the loose, knee-length black dress, or would he be like Jefferson? Yes, Hamilton hadn't made it obvious what he wanted, and Burr couldn't be blamed for not knowing, but...

Burr's fears were calmed when Hamilton broke into a large smile when he saw him. Burr stepped forward, letting the door swing shut behind him, and Hamilton stood. Despite Burr's heels giving him a slight height advantage, he still felt utterly dwarfed by Hamilton.

"Burr." Hamilton's fingers trailed down the side of Burr's neck, reverent. "God, you're beautiful." Burr let himself be guided towards Hamilton's chair and pulled into Hamilton's lap.

Burr expected Hamilton to go for his dick. That was how it was supposed to go, and as long as Burr was allowed to stay afterwards he would live through it. Instead, Hamilton seemed content to just sit there, Burr pressed flush against him. Every so often Hamilton would brush over some innocent place on Burr's body, but he never ventured below his hips. Then Hamilton touched the back of Burr's neck, and Burr arched into the touch.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" Hamilton passed over the spot again, and Burr whimpered. He wanted more, but he couldn't imagine wanting more. He had never wanted more before. He had never been the one taking.

"Alexander," he moaned.

"Yes, I'm here, I'm here."

"I want- I want-"

"What do you want?" Hamilton's face was right there, concerned and loving and- Bur couldn't discern all of the emotions. They were too unfamiliar. He didn't know what he wanted, just that this wasn't enough.

"More," he said. "More... I don't..." Hamilton leaned down and pressed a kiss on the back of Burr's neck, and Burr shuddered.

"Are you alright?" Burr nodded even though he wasn't sure what he was feeling. All he knew was that he wasn't hurt or frightened. He wasn't anything bad at all. The writing calluses on Hamilton's fingertips caught on his skin and each point of contact was like a tiny shock of static electricity and it was overwhelming. It was overwhelming to not be hurt, to not fear what came next.

"Alexander?"

"Yes?" Hamilton's hand stopped stroking, but they were still connected.

"Thank you," Burr whispered. Hamilton's arms drew him closer, as though he could bury Burr in his chest if he just tried hard enough.

"You shouldn't have to thank me," Hamilton said. Burr shook his head, pressing it against Hamilton's collarbone. Hamilton didn't understand. Even though he had seen how Jefferson had been, even though he had been the one to get Burr out, he couldn't understand. Hamilton was- Hamilton was unprecedented, something Burr had never dreamed of experiencing, had known that he didn't deserve to experience. He was gentle when others were harsh, he drew back when others would press forward, he cared about everything that others did not.

"I don't deserve this," Burr murmured, more for his own ears than for Hamilton's, a reminder. 

"You deserve better," Hamilton said. Burr flinched, the gentle words like an earthquake tearing through his experiences. It was a small earthquake, true, but buildings and walls were beginning to crumble nonetheless. Burr didn't want them to crumble. "God, anyone would deserve better, but you're..." Burr could barely feel the kiss that Hamilton placed on his head. "If I ever fuck up, tell me. Tell me and leave."

Burr remembered Jefferson. He remembered everything that he had let Jefferson do without a word in protest. He knew that he wouldn't be able to leave, wouldn't even be able to want to need. Hamilton was too good in comparison to everything he'd ever known.


	8. Chapter 8

Burr was ashamed to say that, when he saw Jefferson's name on his caller id, he almost panicked right then and there. As it was, Jefferson hadn't seemed to want him for... for that. "Strictly business" he'd said. There was no reason for Burr to be nervous.

Burr was terrified. He hadn't ever wanted to go to Jefferson's office again, not after what had happened the last time. But regardless of what had happened, he was still the Vice President. He was expected to be able to talk to the President without running away to Hamilton's arms. He had to keep up the image of a competent government official, no matter what the cost.

When Burr entered the office, Jefferson looked up, his apprising gaze making Burr's skin crawl. Burr couldn't let his discomfort show; he couldn't give Jefferson the satisfaction. Jefferson gestured at the chair across his desk, and Burr sat.

"Vice President Burr," Jefferson said, amusement coloring his voice, "I trust you've been well."

"Yes, thank you," Burr said. Jefferson broke into a cold smile.

"Very good," he said. "I asked you to come here, Burr, because I have some very important business to discuss." Jefferson leaned over the desk until he was only a foot away from Burr's face. Burr wasn't able to suppress a flinch. "I have heard from multiple sources that you have been seen... fraternizing with Hamilton." Burr's mouth went dry.

"We are friends," he said carefully. "Friends do talk on occasion."

"Oh, I've heard that you do more than  _t_ _alk_ , Burr. Now, of course, as President this makes me rather nervous. It would be unseemly if, say, pieces of evidence of your indiscretions were leaked to the papers. Pictures, for example." Burr jumped to his feet.

"You wouldn't," he said. Jefferson leaned back in his chair.

"I certainly wouldn't want to. Imagine the scandal. So this is my warning to you, Burr. Cease meeting with Hamilton now and return to those who can assure that your secrets stay secret." Burr shook his head slowly as though clearing water from his ears. He couldn't go back, not after Hamilton, but neither could he risk having Jefferson ruin both Hamilton and him.

"I will... speak to Hamilton about this," Burr said.

"Oh, there's no need. I've already spoken to our dear Secretary. He agreed quite readily." Burr swallowed back the bile.

"He- he did?"

"Oh, yes. He was completely agreeable once I told him of the danger to his career. He even offered to explain it to you himself. I didn't allow him, of course. I though that I would be much more... effective."

Burr felt as though the bottom had dropped out of the world. Hamilton had promised. Hamilton had promised that he would protect him, that Burr needn't fear Jefferson. But now... now Hamilton had given him over, and like a lamb for the slaughter he was going to go willingly. Burr knew that he should feel angry, but all he could feel was guilt. He had been stupid to think that Jefferson was done with him. Now Hamilton's career was threatened, and Burr obviously wasn't enough for him, and it was all his fault. His best chance at freedom, and Burr had ruined it all.

Jefferson was behind Burr, pressed against the chair, lips ghosting around the shell of Burr's ear. "You're mine now," he whispered. Burr agreed. He may not have been enough for Hamilton, but he could protect him in this way at least. This was all that he was good for.


	9. Chapter 9

Burr was drawn back into Jefferson's snare easily enough. When Jefferson called, he came, dressed in the kind of things that he knew would pacify Jefferson, at least for a while. He hated it, hated every moment that Jefferson reminded him that he wasn't good enough for what Hamilton had offered him.

"Did you want that?" Hamilton had asked.

No, Burr didn't want this, but it was the best he deserved. At least this way he was protecting Hamilton, at least this was some last tenuous link to everything he hadn't been able to earn. When they passed in the hallways of Congress and Hamilton looked at him, Burr could be content in the knowledge that he was safe. Burr's life for Hamilton's was hardly a fair trade, but he was relieved that Jefferson seemed to be willing to take it.

Then one day everything broke. Hamilton was staring after him, and Burr finally snapped.

"Are you stupid?" he hissed. Hamilton seemed confused, and Burr felt anger rising within him.

"What do you mean?" Hamilton said.

"You know very well what I mean. Look, I can reject you calls easily enough, but if you keep looking at me like that, Jefferson is going to suspect-"

"Why have you been rejecting my calls?" said Hamilton. Burr stared at him.

"You know why," he said. "This was your choice, Hamilton. You're going to have to live with it."

"If you don't want to stay with me, that's fine, but don't cut me off," Hamilton said.

"Are you absolutely insane?" Burr said. "If Jefferson found out, both our careers would be over. You were the one to agree to his deal, now you have to live with it. I'm not risking you being hurt by Jefferson."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Hamilton said.

"Don't act like you don't know," Burr said. "Jefferson told me what you did."

"I haven't _done_ anything," Hamilton said. "You're the one that's been avoiding me."

"I've been trying to protect you!" Burr was nearly shouting now, frustration and anger and guilt a tidal wave rising within him.

"You don't have to do the protecting, that's my job."

"You gave me back over to Jefferson!" Burr felt tears rolling down his cheeks, and he quickly tried to wipe them away. "You were the one to end this. You stopped protecting me!" Hamilton reached forward, but Burr stormed away. He couldn't handle seeing Hamilton. He couldn't stand feeling angry when he didn't deserve it, when he should be grateful for the chance to at least partially pay Hamilton back for-

For nothing. Hamilton had abandoned him, even though he had promised that he wouldn't. Hamilton had agreed with Jefferson that Burr was worthless except as a whore for better men. But- but Hamilton had been so good, had given him a taste of something better, and Burr was too selfish not to want more, even if he didn't deserve it. Hamilton had ruined him.

Burr wanted to cry, but his eyes were dry now. Hamilton was almost worse than Jefferson. At least Jefferson had never made him believe that he was worth something. At least Jefferson had always been honest with him. Burr would rather have an obvious demon than someone like Hamilton, who smiled and touched him gently and made him feel halfway human. Now Burr would always secretly long for what he had thought he had a chance at. He would never be content with what he was given, what he deserved.

Still, Burr slipped into a tight navy blue dress and returned to Jefferson's door. There was nothing else for him to do. Hamilton would never love him like he wanted, and if he stopped being what they wanted he would lose whatever scraps he was thrown. He was ready to accept his fate.

But when Burr entered the room, Jefferson was already standing. Burr had fucked up. He knew that somehow he had fucked up, because otherwise why would Jefferson be advancing toward him, paperweight in hand and face twisted in rage? Burr closed his eyes and accepted the blows, sure that he deserved them. 


	10. Chapter 10

When Burr came to, he wasn't in Jefferson's office. He wasn't even in the White House. Instead he was in a room that was completely unfamiliar, but for some reason he wasn't nervous. Perhaps he knew that his life couldn't get any worse than it already was, or perhaps it was because his head still felt as though it was stuffed with cotton and every gash and bruise throbbed along with his heartbeat. It was hard to panic when he barely felt alive.

"Are you alright?" Burr turned his head to see Hamilton, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking slightly. Burr's eyebrows furrowed.

"Wha..." His tongue felt large and clumsy.

"I'm sorry, Aaron. I'm so, so sorry." Hamilton wet his lips. "I shouldn't have confronted him. I should have talked to you instead, but I was just so angry and now he's taken it out on you. I just wanted you to be safe."

"But I thought you..." Burr paused, gathering his thoughts. "I thought you agreed with him."

"I never- I would never do that. I would never let him hurt you. Jefferson is a lying liar who lies."

The reality of his situation hit Burr with the force of revelation. Hamilton had never agreed to give him back to Jefferson. Hamilton had never betrayed him. Burr had been played for a fool, and he didn't deserve to have Hamilton sitting there apologizing when he was more willing to believe fucking Jefferson than-

"Stop." Hamilton was gripping Burr's hand like it was a lifeline. "Stop blaming yourself."

"I fucked up," Burr said. "Oh, God, Jefferson was right. I fucking wanted it so bad that I went back to him instead of just asking you."

"The only one who deserves to be blamed here is Jefferson," Hamilton said. "We both could have handled things better, but it's over now. He won't hurt you anymore."

"What did you do?"

"I may have punched him."

"You didn't!"

"Of course I did!"

"You punched the President? Hamilton, you could go to jail for that!"

"He was beating you with a fucking paperweight!" Hamilton's voice was rising, a tsunami of rage. "God, if I had had a gun, he'd be dead right now. I wish I'd had a gun!"

"Hamilton, you can't just say things like that. Think of the consequences, your career."

"Oh, I'm probably fired," said Hamilton, shrugging.

"I'm sorry," Burr said.

"What? Why are you sorry? I don't want to be in that asshole's Cabinet. Besides, he won't be able to replace me. We both know I'm the best there is."

"Well, I'm glad to know that at least your ego's gotten out unbruised." Hamilton stared at him, and Burr felt unreasonably annoyed.

"Aaron..."

"Just leave," Burr said. "I'm tired." Hamilton hesitated, but then he nodded and left the room. Burr rolled onto his side, glaring at the light blue wall.

Hamilton had said he was safe. Hamilton had punched Jefferson. Hamilton had never abandoned him, had never given him over to Jefferson like he was a toy to be broken. So why did Burr feel more angry than grateful? Why was he still afraid of both of them?

When Burr closed his eyes, all he saw was Jefferson, face twisted and hand raised to strike him, and Hamilton, holding him down.


	11. Chapter 11

Burr's wounds stung when Hamilton changed the bandages.

There's really no other way to describe them, no matter how melodramatic "wounds" sounded in Burr's head. Jefferson hadn't been gentle with the paperweight; there was a long gash across Burr's forehead and another along his jawline. He was lucky, he supposed, that nothing had been cracked or broken. No matter how gentle Hamilton was, Burr still hurt.

"Stop pulling away," Hamilton said. Burr forced himself to stay still. "Thank you." Hamilton kissed him, but Burr didn't respond. He couldn't tell how he was supposed to respond, what he was supposed to do. "I'm sorry."

"I'm fine." Burr's voice was robotic, like it was an automatic response programmed into him. Input: guilt or pity, Output: "I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Burr looked back over at the mirror. Except for the bandages, there was no sign of anything that had happened. Perhaps his hair was a little longer and his eyes a little more wary, but he should have been able to change that easily... "Why won't you you tell me what's bothering you?"

"It's nothing." Hamilton let out a puff of air, annoyed.

"That's bullshit," he said. "Even if you weren't acting completely not-fine, nobody could be fine after..." He trailed off, and then he placed his hand on Burr's tentatively. Burr wanted to yank away, and maybe Hamilton felt that tension, because he squeezed Burr's fingers lightly.

"Is it so hard to imagine that I don't want your help?" Hamilton looked hurt, and Burr felt miserable guilt spark in his chest. It was so much easier when he'd been allowed to be angry. What right did he have to refuse Hamilton's help? Hamilton hadn't ever abandoned him, no matter what Burr had thought.

"No, but you haven't even tried to leave this room since everything happened." Hamilton's fingertips were trailing over Burr's bicep, and Burr hated how it made him relax. He didn't want to need this. He felt sick thinking about Hamilton, sicker thinking about Jefferson when Hamilton wasn't around, and he didn't want help. "I just need you to tell me what you need."

"I need you to go away," Burr said. Hamilton drew back, frowning, and Burr wanted him back.

"Are you sure?" he said. Burr shook his head, looking down at the dingy carpet. "Than what-"

"I don't know." Burr's voice sounded like a different person's, small and lost and not in control. Hamilton stayed too far away and not far enough and Burr leaned over to rest his head on Hamilton's chest, careful to keep his body far away. "I don't- I can't think without you around, but when I see you all I can think about is- I know it was fake, it shouldn't matter, but-"

"Shh, shh, I understand." Hamilton's hands rested on Burr's ribs, fingers fitting gently between the ridges that were too easy to find. "I get it. I can- Is this okay?"

"I don't know. Yes?" Burr wasn't panicking, which was good. Feeling the way that Hamilton's fingers slightly constricted his lungs, making him aware of every breath, was calming. Burr could almost imagine that it was Hamilton doing the arduous work of breathing in and out instead of him.

Hamilton's arms slipped around him, drawing him closer. "Is this okay?" Burr nodded into Hamilton's chest. He still felt ill, he still wanted to run away with every moment Hamilton touched him, but it was better than the blows of Jefferson or the consuming silence of his own mind.

"Why can't I just stop it?" Burr mumbled. "Why can't I give him all the hate I have for you." Hamilton's arms grew tighter. Maybe if he squeezed hard enough, Burr thought, all of the hurt and pain and emotion would be squeezed out of him like toothpaste.

"I don't want you to hate me." Hamilton sounded like a child begging their parents not to leave them at preschool. "Do you want to leave? You can use my car." No, Burr couldn't leave. He couldn't live without Hamilton's gentleness, just like he couldn't stand to be in the same room with him. He was a bee drowning in honey.

"You're the only one left who gives a damn," Burr said, shaking his head. "I'll stay. I can stay. I can learn to love you again."

"I don't want you to..." Burr pressed his head into Hamilton. "Fine. But if I fuck up, you have to promise you'll leave."

Burr wished that he could.


	12. Chapter 12

When Hamilton left the apartment to get groceries, the first thing Burr did was lock the door. Then he went back into the bedroom and locked that door as well, pushing the dresser in front of it for good measure. He sat on the floor, back against the dresser, struggling to get his breathing under control.

Jefferson couldn't get him here. Jefferson didn't have the key to the apartment, so he couldn't get him here. Burr repeated this fact to himself, but nothing lessened the growing assurance at the back of his mind that any moment the door would open, dresser pushed aside as though it was nothing, and he would be found. He would be found, and he would have no excuse, no way of making it seem as though he wasn't running away from- from-

Burr heard the door to the apartment open, and he whimpered. Maybe if he stayed where he was, Jefferson wouldn't be able to find him. Maybe he could hide here forever.

"Burr?" It was Hamilton. That didn't lessen Burr's anxiety the way he knew it should have. If Hamilton found him, he would be angry at Burr. Burr had to stay hidden. "Hey, where are you?" Footsteps came closer and stopped outside the bedroom door. Burr couldn't breath. "Are you in there?"

Burr couldn't answer. His throat, his lips, his tongue, everything was numb and useless. He heard the doorknob rattle as Hamilton tried to open the door, and then there was a long pause.

"Burr, can I come in?"

"No!" Burr heard a sharp intake of breath. "Yes, I meant yes. Yes, you can come in." Burr held his breath, hoping that Hamilton would forgive his lapse and just come in, rather than making him say it again or prove that he wanted it somehow. Instead, he heard Hamilton slide down the door, sitting on the other side.

"Burr..." Hamilton was hesitant. Burr didn't understand. "Would you rather I stay out here?" Burr wanted to say yes, but he didn't know if that was the right answer. He nodded mutely. Hamilton couldn't see it, he knew, but it was the best that he could do. "OK."

"OK?" Did that mean that Hamilton would pick the lock and come in, or was it... Burr pushed away the thought. Too much.

"Yeah," Hamilton said. "I'm fine out here." There was a pause, and Burr struggled with the nonsensical reasoning that Hamilton had to be using. "So, what did you do when I was gone?"

Burr couldn't tell him that he had barricaded himself in the bedroom to escape Jefferson. Hamilton would be angry that Burr didn't trust him. But Burr didn't want to risk what Hamilton might do if he lied. Burr hesitated, trying to find something to say that wouldn't backfire.

"I- I didn't know what kind of foods you liked, for I just got what I usually get." Burr's eyes widened. Was Hamilton... was Hamilton really talking about groceries? "I kind of want to make spaghetti for dinner, but we can get take-out if you don't feel like that. I just got the cheap off-brand sauce because the good stuff wasn't on sale. Hey, have you ever noticed that some things seem to go on sale like every other week? Like yogurt. Who even eats yogurt anyways? Maybe that's why it's always on sale."

"I like yogurt." Yogurt was a safe subject, right? Hamilton couldn't get angry at Burr for liking yogurt.

"Really? Damn, I should have bought some. What kind do you like?"

"Strawberry?" Burr didn't understand what was going on or why Hamilton seemed to care, even if it was only about his favorite yogurt flavor. He didn't understand why the door wasn't opening and Hamilton wasn't ambushing him.

"OK, so you like, like, normal yogurt? Because I've seen some weird flavors, like- like wasabi and chocolate cheesecake. I mean, really? If I wanted chocolate cheesecake, I'd buy chocolate cheesecake, not some healthy bullshit version of one." There was a short pause, and then Hamilton continued on his tirade, which eventually turned from yogurt to the stupidity of the foster care system somehow, Burr didn't know. Burr didn't really care, either. Hamilton hadn't burst in. Hamilton hadn't ignored what Burr wanted, even if it was unsaid. It was baffling, but Burr felt the knot inside him loosen slightly.

The next day, Burr opened the refrigerator to find two dozen little containers of strawberry yogurt on the top shelf.


	13. Chapter 13

Burr had been watching the TV disinterestedly, some kind of nature documentary about monkeys, when Hamilton sat on the other side of the sofa. Burr tensed slightly, but he otherwise tried not to give any sign that he had noticed Hamilton. He couldn't deal with whatever it was that Hamilton wanted to talk about. He didn't know if he could ever deal with talking again.

"Hey," Hamilton said. Burr didn't respond. Hamilton scooted a few inches towards Burr, but when Burr pressed himself against the arm of the sofa he stopped. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" A family of monkeys poked sticks into termite mounds and ate the bugs that clung to the sticks. Hamilton shifted back into the corner of the sofa, as far from Burr as possible.

"I'm making you uncomfortable. Do you want me to leave?"

"Why are you here?" Burr held his breath. It had come out harsher and ruder than he had wanted, but Hamilton didn't look upset. That had to be a good sign.

"I wanted to ask you about the other day, but- Well, I can ask some other time."

"You can ask me now." Burr didn't want to answer, but it was the least he could do. The other day he had been... He pushed it from his mind. Onscreen, two male monkeys fought over territory. Hamilton hesitated, something Burr had never thought he'd see before this whole mess.

"Why did you..." Hamilton sighed and started over. "What caused you to need to hide in the bedroom?"

"Jefferson." Burr hated how easily the name slipped from his lips. Hamilton straightened, eyes wide and alarmed.

"Jefferson was here?" he said, voice like a crack. Burr flinched slightly, and Hamilton softened. "I'm not angry or anything. I'm sorry. But Jefferson was here?" Burr shook his head miserably.

"When you left," he said, "I- I know it was stupid, but I- I knew he would come. It sounds impossible, I know, but-"

"No, I get it." Hamilton didn't get it, Burr knew. He couldn't. "But I don't understand why you didn't want me in the room." Burr sunk down into the sofa. The monkeys were in trees now, eating fruit in the slightly swaying branches.

"Didn't want you there." He glanced at Hamilton quickly, but luckily Hamilton seemed more confused than angry.

"Why didn't you want me there?" Burr poked at the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he searched for an answer.

"Didn't want you to- to touch me." Burr had never seen Hamilton so still.

"Because you think I'll hurt you?" Burr shook his head, and then he shrugged.

"Maybe a little, but it's mostly... too much. Too similar to-" He bit his tongue until he could taste blood. Onscreen the monkeys were grooming each other, picking bugs out of their thick fur. Burr had never known that monkeys ate so many bugs.

"Oh, God." Hamilton stood, pacing, hands drumming on his thigh. "Oh, God, Burr. Why didn't you leave?"

"I don't have anywhere to go. Besides, you saved me, you can keep me safe. There's no reason to-" Bur dug his nails into his knee, and Hamilton's hand jerked forward as though he longed to stop him. "You didn't- You didn't- I'm sorry. It won't happen again." It would, Burr knew it would, but he had to convince Hamilton to let him stay. "I can be good. I can be good. Just please to make me go back to-"

"I would never send you away." Hamilton sounded baffled. "I'm- Look, I'm not good at people at the best of times. You- You need someone who knows how not to hurt you anymore."

"You don't hurt me on purpose." And it was true. Burr knew that Hamilton wasn't Jefferson. He'd never looked at Burr like he was nothing but a bauble or hit him with anything, even fists. It wasn't Hamilton's fault that Burr was too fucked up to not be hurt.

"I shouldn't be hurting you at all." And then Hamilton was gone, and Burr was left alone. He turned off the TV. He didn't want to see the monkeys that had more meaningful relationships than he ever would.


	14. Chapter 14

Burr didn't know how to deal with Hamilton avoiding him. Before, Hamilton had been too close, trying too hard to put him back together. But now... now Hamilton avoided Burr, leaving the room when he saw him come in, spending more and more time away from the apartment, and the absence was worse than the closeness. Without Hamilton there, Burr was constantly on edge, certain that if anyone came through the door he would be too far away to help. At night the shadows became alive and his dreams became nightmares, and Burr could do nothing but sit in the living room watching the Nature Channel and hoping that he wouldn't accidentally fall asleep again.

It all came to a head one Saturday night. Burr woke again in a cold sweat, muffling his screams with his pillow. But he couldn't stop when he saw Jefferson standing in the corner, watching him with hungry eyes.

"Hamilton!" Burr's eyes squeezed shut, and he pressed himself back against the headboard. Jefferson would be so angry. Burr was asleep when he should have been dressing, should have been going to the President's rooms to-

The door was flung open and Hamilton flicked on the light, brandishing a frying pan and looking around wildly for any sign of Jefferson. Burr felt his heart fall into the pit of his stomach. Where Jefferson had been only moments before there was now only a blank wall.

"I'm sorry," Burr said quickly. Hamilton took a step towards him, and Burr flinched back. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about." Hamilton rocked back on his heels, eyes darting out into the hallway. "Do you want me to leave?" Burr shook his head. With Hamilton in the doorway, there was no way for Jefferson to come in.

"Stay," Burr said. Hamilton nodded, face full of trepidation.

"Alright, where do you want me to go?" Burr hesitated. He couldn't ask Hamilton to stay in the doorway. he was already asking him for so much and offering nothing in return.

"Chair?" he said at last. The chair was too close to the bed for Burr's comfort, true, but it also faced the door, which was good. Hamilton approached Burr cautiously, and when he sat he looked at Burr as though he would fall apart.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hamilton said. Burr shook his head. "Alright." The anxiety, the certainty that Jefferson was coming choked Burr. He began to shake.

"Hamilton?" he said.

"Yes?" Hamilton leaned forward, and Burr forced himself not to draw away.

"Just- just talk to me," he said. Hamilton's eyebrows scrunched together, uncomprehending, but Burr knew that he needed this. He needed something to concentrate on besides the shadows in his mind. After a few moments Hamilton began to speak.

"One time, John and I- You know John Laurens, right? Well, we were at his family's place, and he absolutely hates it there. But he has this cousin who was five or six at the time. Well, we went out to the woods and we found this pool. There was a turtle there sunning itself on a rock..." Burr let Hamilton's voice swim in and out of focus. The story and the words didn't matter. All that mattered was that Hamilton speaking meant that Burr wasn't alone. Jefferson couldn't hurt him here, guarded by Hamilton's cadence and pitch.


	15. Chapter 15

When Burr woke, Hamilton was still there, slumped asleep in the chair. Burr stared at him, at the rise and fall of his chest and the gentle snoring that was barely audible. There were moments like this where Burr felt that he could somehow move past his fear and panic, at least with Hamilton. In a flash, Burr made his decision.

He slowly began to move across the bed towards Hamilton, stopping at increments to take deep breaths and calm his racing heart. He had nothing to be afraid of. Even if Hamilton wanted to try anything (which he didn't, he didn't), he was asleep. He couldn't hurt Burr asleep.

Finally Burr reached the edge of the bed, Hamilton barely a foot away. It would be easy, too easy for either of them to reach out and touch the other. It took everything Burr had not to race back to the other side of the bed. But, no, he had to do this. He couldn't live the rest of his life freaking out whenever someone touched him, not to mention the fact that Hamilton would eventually want something in return for everything he'd done. Burr had to be ready for that day.

Burr reached forward, hand trembling visibly. He stopped a few centimeters from Hamilton's shoulder, unable to go farther. Burr hated himself at that moment, mouth filling with the taste of bile. He couldn't do it. He was so fucked up that he couldn't even touch the one person in the world that had never given him a real reason to fear or doubt him.

As Burr trembled and thought poison, Hamilton rolled over, nose crinkling and eyes slowly blinking open. Burr froze, breath coming in short bursts that thrust from his chest too quickly. For a moment Hamilton looked confused, but then he broke into a smile.

"Hey," he said. "Did you sleep better after..." Burr nodded, eyes wide and hand still outstretched. Hamilton seemed satisfied with that as an answer. "Well, I'm going to take a shower. Bye."

"Wait!" Hamilton froze. Burr struggled with his body, with his words, with the way that half his mind screamed at him to stop while the other half told him to do it, to repay Hamilton for everything. "Wait, I want to..." He leaned forward, and Hamilton stepped back.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," Hamilton said. "I don't expect-"

"Shut up," Burr said. Hamilton did, eyes wide, and strangely that made Burr less nervous. "I trust you." And, in one quick movement, Burr forced himself forward. The touch could barely be called that, a mere ghosting of his fingertips over the back of Hamilton's hand, but Burr could count it as a victory. He hadn't panicked. He hadn't panicked. He could one day repay Hamilton.

Hamilton was staring at him, confused and slightly fearful. Burr gave him a smile that was only half-fake, and Hamilton smiled tentatively back.


	16. Chapter 16

Hamilton was in the kitchen when Burr finally came out of the bedroom, making scrambled eggs. Burr stood awkwardly at the outskirts of the kitchen. Hamilton looked as though he belonged there, not hesitant or fearful as he so often was when Burr was around. Sometimes Burr was tempted to leave the safety of the apartment and go somewhere else for Hamilton’s sake. At that moment, Hamilton looked up at Burr, and his face instantly clouded over.

“What was that about?” he said gently, nodding towards the bedroom. Burr looked at the ground.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. He stayed completely still as Hamilton drew forward slowly. He wished that he hadn’t touched Hamilton. It didn’t matter how much of a triumph it had been, Burr still felt sick for the slight touch.

“Hey, I get it,” Hamilton said. “But you seemed pretty freaked out earlier, and I want to know why.”

“It’s not important,” Burr said. Hamilton made a soft, frustrated noise. “Look, I just touched you and didn’t react well. It’s not like I didn’t want to.”

“It didn’t seem like you wanted to,” Hamilton said. “If I made you feel like you were expected to-“

“For fuck’s sake, Hamilton, not everything’s about you!” Burr snapped. Every muscle in Hamilton’s body tensed, and Burr reeled backwards. Oh, God. He hadn’t meant to say that. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Hamilton said quickly. “I don’t want you to apologize. I want to understand.” Burr’s entire body was shaking in anticipation of a blow or something worse as Hamilton approached him cautiously. Burr hated it, hated feeling broken and helpless, hated that just touching someone could make him want to cry.

“I want to be able to- to repay you,” Burr said softly, words arching and tumbling across the kitchen floor, breaking like fragile china. He spoke as though, if he spoke quickly enough, he could suck away the bitter meaning behind them. “I thought I could. I thought I could go back to-“ To that one night when it had been Hamilton he sucked off instead of Jefferson. To the way he had felt when Hamilton had held him, before everything had fallen apart. “I’m sorry. I can’t- I owe you too much, and I can’t do it. I can’t.”

Hamilton didn’t respond for a long time. When Burr finally dared to look up at him, he looked dumbstruck, as though Burr had announced the ending of the world. A hand reached forward, wavered, and then fell. Then the tears started, streaming down Hamilton’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Hamilton said. “You don’t need to pay me back. If you still think you need to, know that the best way you can repay me is by being honest and being okay. Okay?” Burr stared at the other man. He couldn’t believe the words that came from his mouth. It was stupid to believe them.

“I’m not okay,” Burr said uncertainly, bracing himself for Hamilton’s response. Hamilton just nodded.

“No, you’re not,” he said. “But I swear to God, Burr, you will be someday.”

Someday. Someday was far away, Burr knew. Someday was far away, but it was possible, and that was all that mattered.


	17. Chapter 17

Hamilton was staring at him. Burr picked at his food, trying to avoid his gaze. He didn’t want to talk about whatever it was Hamilton wanted. He didn’t want to talk at all.

“Burr…” Hamilton paused, steeling himself. “Burr, you have to get help, real help.”

“No.”

“Burr, please.”

“I’m not going to a therapist.” Burr ate a bit of the cereal. It tasted like sawdust.

“Burr, I can’t- I can’t help you like a therapist can. I’m a lawyer. I don’t have that kind of training.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Yes, you do.” Burr felt sick just thinking about leaving the apartment. He felt sick thinking about therapy. Perhaps that was a sign that he did need something, but Burr wasn’t about to leave the room, not now.

“I’ll be okay, I just need some time-“

“That’s true, but you also need help.” Hamilton began to fiddle with his hair, looking anywhere but at Burr. “Look, I… I’ve been looking into therapists that specialize in… stuff. I’ve got a list, maybe you could look at it. I don’t want to hurt you, but…” He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“What would I even say to a therapist,” Burr said. “I can’t exactly tell them that I let the President fuck me and now I’m getting all weepy about it.”

“Burr-“

“No one would believe me. Besides, it’s not like I didn’t ask for it. I said yes every time he gave me the chance to say no, so why should some stranger think that I didn’t-“

“Aaron!” Burr looked down to see his fingernails digging into the back of his hand, blood welling up beneath them. Hamilton’s hand fluttered nearby. Burr took a deep breath, pulling his hand away and balling both into fists.

“No one can help,” he said. “No one would ever say that what I let him do wasn’t consensual, except for you apparently, and nothing he did was illegal.”

“He beat you,” Hamilton said. “That’s pretty damn illegal.” Burr shrugged. “You need to let someone-“

“You’re already helping me,” Burr said. “I don’t want to have other people know.”

“It’s literally a therapist’s job to know and to listen,” Hamilton said. He deposited a stack of papers and pamphlets on the table in front of Burr. “Just- just look at them, okay? I want you to feel better.”

Burr looked down at the mess in front of him as Hamilton left the kitchen. He knew that he would never feel better. He knew it in the same way he knew that the grass was green and that Jefferson was a dick. But he owed Hamilton so much, and if Hamilton wanted this for whatever reason… He picked up one of the pamphlets at random. He supposed that he could try to do it. He had opened himself up for worse people.


	18. Chapter 18

The building was judging Burr. It had been hard enough to leave the apartment, even harder to take the subway, with all those people pressing around him, but the building was too much. He couldn’t go inside.

“Are you alright?” Burr nodded. Hamilton, he needed to concentrate on Hamilton. He was doing this because Hamilton thought it was a good idea, and Hamilton wouldn’t hurt him. “We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.”

“No, I’m fine.” Burr forced himself up the steps, Hamilton trailing behind him. He found himself in a waiting area. It seemed pleasant enough, with muted colors and gently waving ferns, but he couldn’t help but notice how everyone who sat there seemed nervous or blank. He went up to the front desk, where a receptionist stood with a pleasant, mandated smile.

“Aaron Burr for 4:00?” she said. Burr nodded, mouth suddenly very dry. “And you are..?”

“Alexander Hamilton,” Hamilton said quickly. “I’m his friend.” She nodded and made a note on a sheet of legal paper.

“Dr. Washington will see you in a moment,” she said. Burr nodded and went to sit in one of the chairs. It was too quiet. The people around him seemed to be waiting for redemption or destruction, frozen, breathless, and every attempt by Hamilton to start a conversation fell to nothing. Despite how isolated he had been since… everything, the apartment had never been quiet, not even at night. There was always the TV, or Hamilton, or the constant rattle and roar of cars through the middle of New York. But here it was more than quiet; it was silent, as though the room was stuffed with cotton to make more room for the poison in his mind. Burr’s hands clenched and unclenched as he tried to beat down the rising sense of panic in his chest.

“Aaron Burr?” The voice sounded like a gunshot in the silence, and Burr stood as though commanded. The man who had called out his name was tall, bald, and emitted and undeniable aura of power and confidence. “Follow me.” Burr followed, concentrating on the process of putting one foot steadily in front of the other instead of the unknown that lay at the end. The man led him up a flight of stairs and into an office.

The office was small and old-fashioned, with a large oak desk and padded oak chairs. There was, unexpectedly, a roaring fire in the fireplace. The only break from the monotony of ferns and muted colors was in a picture on the desk of the tall man and a woman in a bright yellow dress. Burr stared at it, and the man smiled.

“That’s Martha, my wife,” he said. Burr nodded. “I’m Dr. Washington, by the way.” He held out his hand, but Burr didn’t take it.

“She looks nice,” he said. Washington sat, gesturing for Burr to take the other chair.

“Now, with only a few exceptions, everything said here is completely confidential. The only exceptions are if you intend to harm yourself or others. Otherwise, you can be confident that nothing you tell me will leave this room.” Burr nodded. “The tissues are there, water’s available on request, and the phone recording you on my desk is only for the purpose of my taking notes later. Any questions?” Burr shook his head, but then he hesitated.

“What if I want to tell someone?” he said.

“Of course, that’s your decision. If you would like to release your records to someone or tell them yourself, that’s fine. However, the nature of your therapy makes me urge you to wait to make such a move until we have been here longer.” Washington settled back in the chair, and Burr tried to relax. “Now, tell me a little about yourself…”

Burr emerged from the office an hour later feeling numb. He had no idea whether or not the therapy was helping. He didn’t even want to examine how he felt about being forced to talk to someone. He didn’t mind Dr. Washington, though, so that was something. There was a certain air around him that made Burr feel like he knew what he was doing and wanted to help you figure out what you were doing as well. Hamilton jumped up when he saw him come out of the stairwell.

“How did it go?’ he said. Burr shrugged, and Hamilton looked slightly disappointed.

“I like Dr. Washington,” Burr said. Hamilton smiled.

“So, are you sticking with him, or should we start looking for someone else?” Burr hesitated, but there was no reason not to stay with Washington. He had no reason besides the instinctive fear he felt at the idea of _telling_ to want to switch therapists.

“I think I’ll stick with him,” he said. It didn’t feel like the momentous decision it should have. It almost felt like a foregone conclusion, as though the moment he had stepped through the door he had made his decision, good therapist or not. At least this way he would know what to expect from the sessions.


	19. Chapter 19

Burr still hated leaving the apartment and taking the subway, but entering the building was getting somewhat easier, and everything else was bearable if Hamilton was with him. Of course, he should have guessed that in the weekly meetings they would eventually come to the subject of Hamilton.

"So, who is the man who comes with you every week?" Washington always began their sessions like this, with an open question that Burr could answer as thoroughly or as simply as he wanted before the more painful questions started.

"He's Alexander Hamilton," Burr said. "He's a... friend, I guess."

"You guess?" Burr shrugged, staring at the cold, dead fireplace. It was warm enough that the fire wasn't needed, and Burr missed the heat at his back.

"I mean, we kind of hated each other before... before. But he was the one who figured with what was happening."

"And what did he do when he found out?" Burr hesitated.

"He- he didn't hurt me," he said, "not on purpose. But-" Washington nodded for him to continue. "He told me to go to his place instead of the Asshole's. I though I knew what he wanted, so I... you know, and he-" Burr took a long drink of water. "But when the Asshole beat me up, he came for me. I've been living with him since then."

"And has he ever tried to make you do anything since then?"

"He didn't ask me to even then. I just misunderstood everything." Burr leaned forward. He had to make Washington understand. "I thought- I knew that I owed him for saving me. He says I don't owe him anything, so he's good, don't you see? He seems willing to wait for- for me to be ready, so-" Washington put up a hand to stop him.

"He stays through every therapy session, correct?" Burr nodded. "Would you be comfortable with me asking Ms. Manning to bring him up here?"

"Of course," Burr said, and for once there was no hesitation in his voice. He may not have been able to let Hamilton touch him, but he knew damn well that he could trust him with his mind. After all, Hamilton had seen him at his lowest and helped him out anyways. Washington pressed a button on his desk and told the person to bring Hamilton up. Burr swung his legs, staring at the floor.

When Hamilton walked through the door, he see me nervous. He looked around the room as though searching for escape routes, only smiling slightly when Burr met his eyes. Washington gestured to a second chair next to Burr's, and Hamilton sat obediently, quiet for once.

"Is there something wrong, sir?" Burr snorted at the way that Hamilton said "sir."

"Of course not," Washington said, though his voice indicated otherwise. "I just called you up here to ask you a few questions about your relationship with Aaron. Is that alright?"

"Sure, shoot," Hamilton said.

"How did you and Aaron meet?" If Hamilton was confused, he didn't show it.

"Well, we were colleagues. We argued a lot about, like, everything, politics and stuff. I mean, our offices were right next to each other, so we couldn't help but keep meeting. But I suppose you want to know how we actually started getting along."

"If you would."

"Well, to make a long story short, and pay attention since that's the last time you'll hear me say that, he had a torn dress and I let him borrow my spare suit. It kind of snowballed from there."

"Were you aware of the abuse when you had sex with him?" Hamilton flinched in symphony with Burr, and it made Burr angry. Why was Washington accusing him? Couldn't he see that Hamilton was Good?

"I was aware that there was something going on," Hamilton said, "but I didn't realize the... extent of it." Washington nodded, satisfied. 

"Thank you. You can go." Hamilton stood, glancing at Burr. Burr was surprised when he found himself standing as well, reaching out towards Hamilton but not quite touching.

"No, he can stay." Both the other men stared at him, and Burr looked at Hamilton. "You can stay." 


	20. Chapter 20

Hamilton was strangely quiet as they left Washington's office. It made Burr nervous. He wasn't used to making it through the subway ride back to the apartment without the distraction of Hamilton's chatter, and he was afraid that the reason for the silence was... Hamilton was either angry at him for Washington's accusing questions, or he was angry because Burr had made him stay.

"Hamilton?" Burr said as soon ad the door of the apartment swung shut behind them. Hamilton didn't answer, he just went back to the kitchen and began to boil water for the pasta. "What's wrong?"

"Huh?"

"What's wrong? You're quiet." Burr curled in the corner of the couch, chin propped up on the arm facing the kitchen. Hamilton didn't look angry, but Burr knew that Hamilton was a good actor. If he wanted to mask his true opinions or feelings, he would succeed. A situation like that was rare, though. Burr had to take comfort from that fact.

"Me? I'm fine. I was just thinking."

"Oh." Burr knew that wasn't the whole truth. Hamilton usually thought out loud, no matter how much Burr didn't care. "What were you thinking about?"

"Your therapy." An answer, but it wasn't enough. Burr needed to understand, needed it with a passion that was in such short supply that he couldn't let it go. He had to wring every drop he could from this moment.

"What do you think of Washington?" Hamilton pursed his lips, and Burr's stomach knotted. He had asked the wrong question, he knew it. 

"I think... I think he's good for you." Burr's eyebrows furrowed, and Hamilton shot him a strained grin. "Not gonna lie, I thought that I was in big trouble when he called me in."

"I'm sorry. It was my fault." Hamilton waved aside the apology. "No, really, I said some things that made him think that you-"

"I would rather have him jumping on anyone who ever hurt you than dismissing anything that's happened." Hamilton sighed. "I fucked up then, but I'm trying to do the right thing for you now. If Washington can help you, I won't stop him from implying that I did... well, anything. Besides, I would be angry at someone if I thought they'd..." He trailed off, looking down at the pasta. It was boiling madly, foam nearly erupting over the sides and onto the burner. Burr stood and walked over to the kitchen. He put the lid on the pasta firmly, and then he looked at Hamilton. 

"You're fine," he said. "I trust you."

"How? Why?" Burr reached out. His hand stopped abi ut an inch from Hamilton, shaking, but it didn't matter. He wasn't trying to touch him; he was trying to make a point.

"If it was anyone else, I would be freaking out right now," he said softly. "I know it's not perfect, but you're the only one I can even come close to without being a mess." His hand moved upwards and clutched a lock of Hamilton's hair. To his surprise, Burr was- Burr was fine. Hair, or at least Hamilton's hair, was safe to him for whatever reason. Hamilton was staring, enraptured and afraid.

"You don't have to-"

"I know." Burr didn't know, not really, but that was fine. Hamilton kept repeating those words. He didn't have to repay him. He didn't have to do anything he didn't want to. Burr didn't believe Hamilton. He knew there was some limit, but he hadn't reached it yet, so he was willing to trust Hamilton for now. If Hamilton wasn't safe, who was?


	21. Chapter 21

Thinking Jefferson's name no longer caused Burr to almost panic, but he was smart enough to avoid watching the news. Who knew when Jefferson would make an appearance? Burr wanted to believe that he was ready, but... he wasn't. He knew that if he saw him, he would panic. Unfortunately, election season was approaching, and with it come a deluge of political ads.

Burr usually stuck to nature shows, but that morning he had found a  _How I Met Your Mother_ rerun. Maybe if he had had time to mentally prepare it would have gone better, but he doubted it. Jefferson was too tied to everything for him to compartmentalize his public persona away from what had happened. The moment that Jefferson had popped on the screen, with his fake smile and carefully messy hair, Burr's body became completely taut and still.

At first it wasn't so bad, not compared to what he had expected. Sure, Jefferson was there, the scent of his cloying cologne slowly filling Burr's nostrils, but the voice that droned on wasn't his. It was different, and Burr was almost able to relax his body when one of the still pictures began to move. Burr stared in horror as the mouth opened and-

_Are you ready to be good for me?_

The Jefferson onscreen seemed to grow, towering over Burr. Burr squeezed his eyes shut, pressing himself back into the couch, but that voice went on. Burr turned his head to the side, waiting for a blow.

"Burr!" Burr opened his eyes. Jefferson was gone from the screen, replaced by Neil Patrick Harris dancing. Hamilton was crouching down in front of Burr, eyes wide. Burr couldn't stop shaking. "Burr, what happened?" Burr just shook his head. He couldn't speak. He reached forward and, when Hamilton didn't move away, clutched onto a few locks of the other man's hair.

"D-don't go," he managed to choke out.

"Don't worry, I'm not leaving. You're safe here." Hamilton continued talking, grounding Burr with his steady stream of meaningless comfort. Burr wasn't safe, not really, not when a damn commercial could make him crumble. But Hamilton was there, solid and present and apparently willing to let Burr cling to him like a child's stuffed bear forever. It was a long time, or at least it felt like it to Burr, before he finally let Hamilton's hair go.

"Sorry," Burr said. His lungs were still moving too fast, but he managed to make the word sound somewhat normal.

"What triggered you?" Burr gestured at the TV.

"Jefferson- Jefferson was-" Hamilton jumped up and pressed the button, and the screen turned black. "He was talking, and I couldn't-"

"I get it." To Burr's surprise, Hamilton knelt again. "Do you need..." Burr hesitated for a moment, and then he nodded. Hamilton bowed his head and let his hair fall forward.

"Thanks," Burr said softly. Hamilton's hair was real in a way that nothing else was. He didn't understand why Hamilton was letting him be so needy and annoying, but Burr would take it. He wanted whatever comfort he was allowed.


	22. Chapter 22

Jefferson was reelected with James Madison as his vice president. When Burr heard the news, he completely broke down. He had been in therapy for almost nine months by then, one hour-long session every week, but he still couldn’t stop it. Hamilton found him, shaking on the couch and staring at the remains of the glass coffee table that had broken during his breakdown.

“Hey,” Hamilton said softly. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry,” Burr muttered. Hamilton lay down on the sofa, head in Burr’s lap so as to make his hair more convenient. Burr took it gratefully, letting the strands slip through his fingers. He buried his nose in the locks.

“It’s okay, I get it,” Hamilton said. “Just four more years of this shit, and then Jefferson will be gone from the White House.”

“It’s not just four more years,” Burr said. “It’s already been almost a year since…” Everything else contained in that sentence could go unsaid. It had been almost a year since Burr had woken up in Hamilton’s apartment, and he still could barely go outside without Hamilton by his side. He couldn’t get a job or live on his own or even bear to touch Hamilton more than this.

“But you’re getting better,” Hamilton said. “And you’ll get even better. It’s been almost a year, and you can do so much you couldn’t before.” Burr couldn’t help but smile. Hamilton was adorably optimistic.

“I wish I could believe you,” he said. “I don’t feel like I’m getting better.” Hamilton nuzzled his nose into Burr’s stomach.

“My head’s in your lap,” he said. “I know it’s not a lot, but I think it’s amazing.” Burr just shook his head. “I’m not lying.”

“I know you’re not. I just think you’re delusional.”

“Hey, maybe I am, but I’m also right.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Burr said. Hamilton smirked.

“It made you laugh, didn’t it?” he said. Something warm and good squeezed in Burr’s chest. He hadn’t even realized that he’d laughed. It had been so long that he hadn’t even recognized it.

“I guess it did,” he said. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I am; I’m always right,” Hamilton said. “You just have to believe it.”

Burr couldn’t believe it, not completely, but there had to be something real in Hamilton’s words. After all, why else would he be able to laugh when Jefferson was still president, when the world still seemed too wide and crowded to breathe in, when anything at all could send him back six months? He slid his fingers through Hamilton’s hair, a comforting, solid rhythm. He wasn’t alright, not by a long shot, but Hamilton was- Hamilton was onto something.

Burr could get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! I hoped you enjoyed reading this story!


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